


Rats' Nest

by swordznsorcery



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Gen, shooty things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 19:59:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7188038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swordznsorcery/pseuds/swordznsorcery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doctor Who 50th Anniversary fic. Prompt: Any characters who appeared in 1984.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rats' Nest

Rats' Nest

 

The Doctor had asked if there was anywhere in the universe that Turlough had always wanted to see. It was just the two of them now, and Turlough had suggested some sort of Boy's Own adventure – minus the peril, ideally. A fun, intergalactic excursion, with sight-seeing and excitement; and maybe a drink or two, if he could manage it when the Doctor wasn't looking. Anywhere, really, just as long as it wasn't on Earth. 

Which was why he found himself standing on Blackpool Pier at five o'clock on a wet Saturday evening in November, watching the rain drip from the railings, and wondering why he had ever thought that travelling in a time machine might be fun. The Doctor, on discovering that they had landed on Earth again, had shrugged, given the time rotor a poke, and then announced that they might as well take a look around. Turlough had not been impressed. Couldn't they ever just arrive somewhere, see that it was rubbish, and then turn around and leave? They always had to go 'investigating', even when the only thing of interest was how Britain had managed not to drown yet. It was the wettest place in the entire universe, at least as far as Turlough had seen. Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he hunched his shoulders against the cold, dispiriting rain, and looked about for the Doctor. Predictably enough, he had disappeared again. It was like taking a walk with a will o' the wisp. 

"Doctor?" There was at least a little shelter where he was standing, his back to the TARDIS to protect himself from the worst of the wind. He had no desire to strike out into the gloomy dusk to search for somebody who was probably marvelling at an interesting cloud pattern, or getting excited over a particular species of barnacle. "Doctor?" 

"Over here," said a voice, that most assuredly was not the Doctor's. He spun around, his well-tuned self preservation instincts making his eyes leap left and right in search of a bolt hole. He was too late. A torchlight flashed into his eyes, dipping a second later to allow him to see. A woman in an army uniform was regarding him with the sort of suspicious glare that TARDIS travellers soon came to know well. 

"You travel with the Doctor?" she asked him. He frowned. The Doctor had a lot of enemies. Admitting to being his companion could be a death sentence as often as it could be a lifeline. He strained his eyes in an effort to make out her insignia, in the hope that it might provide a clue. 

"The Doctor gave instructions that we should fetch him his TARDIS," continued the woman. "He didn't mention a companion. Now, does that sentence mean anything to you, or should I have my men escort you on your way?" 

"What? No. I mean yes, I travel with the Doctor." This was beginning to sound promising. On the one hand, the Doctor had apparently managed to get himself mixed up with something already, which didn't bode well either for a quick getaway or for Turlough's continuing good state of health. On the other hand, it did suggest the promise of a roof, and possibly a cup of tea. Both were infinitely preferable to standing around in the cold rain, being miserable. Typical that the Doctor should apparently have forgotten he existed, however. He had probably found something more interesting to think about, such as a Dalek invasion, or yet another megalomaniac. Turlough couldn't help thinking, rather sulkily, that the same thing would never have happened to Tegan. 

"Very well. There's a car over there. Get into it." She looked him up and down, somewhat witheringly. "And try not to drip on the upholstery. All right, lads. Let's get this thing mobile." Several burly soldiers appeared out of the deepening dusk, carrying ropes and lifting equipment. Turlough was rather of the opinion that this was only going to add to the TARDIS's collection of dents, but he had no intention of saying so out loud. If he drew too much attention to himself, he might be coerced into helping, when he would much rather be getting warm. He slipped away, finding a waiting car in the drab, olive green of military vehicles everywhere. A man in a peaked cap sat behind the wheel, and offered Turlough a polite nod. 

"Evening," he said. Turlough smiled at him a little uncertainly, unable to entirely convince himself than a big man in a military uniform honestly meant him no harm. There were no guns on display, however, and when he slipped into the back of the car, he was met with reasonably comfortable seats, and a very pleasing lack of rain. He settled himself into this new, relative comfort, and prepared to wait. 

In the event, it did not take too long to move the TARDIS, although there seemed to be a good deal of thumping and swearing involved. Soon enough, the recalcitrant box was loaded onto the back of a truck, and a small convoy of vehicles bounced its way off the pier. Blurred lights, making strange patterns on the rainy windows, ran past Turlough's eyes, strangely hypnotic when paired with the new, pleasant warmth of the car's heater. By the time they arrived at their destination, he was feeling enjoyably sleepy, but he clambered out of the car as bidden, and followed the others inside a large, official-looking building. Various people in uniform saluted the woman who had found him, and she saluted back, before leading her procession of overgrown schoolboy, and grunting, struggling TARDIS-bearers down a long, undecorated corridor. There was a pair of doors at the end, and the woman opened them both, standing back to allow the passage of the TARDIS. Setting it down in the middle of the room, the soldiers all withdrew. Only the woman remained, for a moment, staring about expectantly. Then, with an irritated noise, she withdrew. The two doors swung shut, and all was silence. 

"Doctor?" asked Turlough. For some reason the hairs on the back of his neck were prickling. This didn't feel right. "Doctor, are you in here?" 

"Of course I'm in here," came a distant voice that he didn't recognise. "Where else would I have got to? Why must everybody persist in asking ridiculous questions?" 

"Doctor?" Turlough advanced into the room, past overflowing bookcases, and vast arrays of laboratory equipment. Together they formed narrow corridors that criss-crossed the space, turning the room into a virtual labyrinth of shelves and workbenches that was quite disorientating. Persevering, he came eventually upon an inner office, a sanctum built from what appeared to be plasterboard and corrugated plastic windows, and decorated with Army posters and duty rotas. It was a small space, containing a thin, towering filing cabinet, and a very basic desk, where a man was sitting reading a newspaper. He was quite well-built, with a bushy mop of red-gold hair, and the most appallingly striking coat that Turlough had ever set eyes upon. Reds and yellows and pinks and greens clashed with each other in a profusion of shapes and shades that could only have been designed especially to make a statement. A very loud, determined statement. Rising up to his feet, the strange man regarded the new arrival with widening eyes. 

"Turlough?!" he asked. Turlough blinked. He was quite sure that he would have recognised this man, had they ever met each other before. "Where in Gallfrey's name did you spring from? Well speak up, boy. Don't just stand there boggling. Only idiots boggle." 

"I'm not boggling!" Trying his best not to prove himself a liar, Turlough took a few steps closer, still looking about for any sign of the Doctor. "I was at the pier. The Doctor told me to wait there with the TARDIS. Next thing I know there's soldiers everywhere, and we were both brought here. Me and the TARDIS that is. Where is he?" 

" _He_ is here." The man with the curls walked around the table, standing before Turlough to reveal a pair of trousers that the younger man would much rather had stayed hidden, especially since they had had the misfortune to be paired with that coat. " _I_ am the Doctor." He sighed, and turned his eyes heavenward. "Oh marvellous. This shows every sign of turning out to be one of those days." 

**********

"What do you mean, you're the Doctor?" Hesitating on the threshold of the little office, Turlough blinked repeatedly, both as a reaction to the statement and to the man – or perhaps more accurately to his attire. The coat was one of the most remarkable things that he had ever seen, and he was not entirely sure whether he should applaud it or recoil from it. The man within it, swelling up with self importance all the while, placed his hands on his hips, and frowned. 

"Don't hover, boy. In or out, make up your mind. And don't ask foolish questions. What I mean is precisely what I say: _I_ am the Doctor. You know about regeneration, don't you? Or do you. When is this happening? I mean relative to your timeline, of course." 

"I..." Taken aback by the questioning, Turlough hesitated still further. "I..." 

"Well spit it out then, spit it out. And do cease that wretched hovering. Are you a boy or a helicopter?" 

"I'm neither," managed Turlough in reply, and his host, with a quirk of an eyebrow, nodded approvingly. 

"Good, good. That's better. I didn't think you were a fool. You're not a fool, are you?" 

"Certainly not!" Annoyed now, Turlough came further into the room. "Now see here—" 

"Calm down." With a smile that was almost friendly, the stranger heaved a sigh, and sat back down at the desk. "And my apologies. Of course you're no fool. I should hardly have chosen to travel with you for so long if you had been." He frowned, rather ruining what had nearly been a compliment. "Or so one assumes." 

"Thank you," said Turlough, not really meaning it. "I think." His host smiled again, and gestured to an empty chair beside the desk. 

"Do sit down," he said. "I'd offer you some tea, but it often seems to me as though a tea leaf brought within two hundred yards of a military establishment commits some sort of act of suicide. It's the only explanation I can think of for the taste. There are some rather good chocolate biscuits though." 

"I... No. Thank you." Beginning to feel a headache coming on, Turlough loosened his perpetually hangdog tie. "So... you're... the Doctor? Really? Another one of him, I mean. He didn't suddenly regenerate on the pier?" 

"Oh no. He's not due to..." The man with the curls trailed off, and cleared his throat discreetly. "That's not something that I should discuss. But no, your version is still alive and kicking. I am a newer model, old chap. The new, improved version, you might say." 

"Might I." It was Turlough's turn to clear his throat, although in his case the gesture was rather less discreet. He earned a glare, but remained unbowed. "Well I'm sorry, Doctor, but I'm not used to being insulted. The Doctor – my version that is – isn't given to calling people idiots." 

"No." The newer version of his old friend made a face that did not suggest approval. "I don't suppose he is. Well, for what it's worth, I apologise. It's just that I can't always rely on my memory of faces from the past. Things can get a little shaken up when one regenerates, you know. And it's even harder to be sure of people when the memories come from _him_. He seemed to like everybody. It's really quite disconcerting." 

"That's... nice?" suggested Turlough, by now fully prepared for the expected glare. The Sixth Doctor did not disappoint. 

"Yes, well. We are all entitled to our opinions I suppose. I do like to think that my own personality was formed as a direct reaction against his, though. He's always smiling, isn't he. Always so open and friendly. And where does it get him, hmm? It's a wonder he survived long enough to regenerate." 

"He's hardly that bad," said Turlough, insulted on behalf of his friend. The Sixth Doctor sighed, before summoning a smile that carried with it a note of regret. 

"No, I know. Don't mind me. It's just that it throws one into all sorts of turmoil, when earlier selves start popping up out of the woodwork; to say nothing of everything else. I came here for a holiday, you know. Things have been even more manic than usual lately, and I thought a rest would do us both good. I left Mel having a rest, popped out for few minutes to look for a nice place for a spot of lunch, and walked straight into a UNIT taskforce. It's the story of my life." 

"Yes, I know the feeling." Relaxing a little, Turlough could not help but smile. "Like that time when the Doctor took us to the Eye of Orion for a holiday, and ten minutes after we got there, he collapsed because his past was disappearing. There never seems to be a moment to catch your breath." 

"Yes, I remember." For a moment the Sixth Doctor smiled at him, the expression genuinely warm as the comradeship of shared experience thawed his combative streak. "It is good to see you again, Turlough. Really. So, are you alone, or is there anybody else travelling with you at the moment?" 

"No. There's just me now." 

"Ah." His host smiled, raising his eyebrows high into the air. "Well, it's probably just as well. I'm not sure that Tegan and I would exactly get along. So there's just a few of us then. That ought to be enough." 

"Enough for what?" asked Turlough, immediately suspicious. He had no desire to be dragged into anything that might be dangerous; and if this new version of the Doctor was caught up in something involving UNIT, that seemed horribly likely. The Doctor waved a dismissive hand. 

"Oh, you know. The usual. Monsters on the beach. Human race in imminent peril. Nothing that I can't handle, obviously, but it's always useful to have another pair of hands." He frowned suddenly. "Hmm. Now there's a thought. The pier, you said?" 

"I beg your pardon?" 

"Do keep up, boy. You said that the TARDIS landed on the pier. That your version of me is there somewhere?" 

"Yes. He went for a walk, I assume. Why?" 

"Because he's me. And if anybody is likely to fall headfirst into a den of monsters, then it's me, isn't it. Or an earlier version of me, at any rate. I'm a good deal older and wiser now, even if I do say so myself." 

"You mean the Doctor could be in danger?" asked Turlough. The newer version rolled his eyes, the friendly interlude apparently over. 

"Well of course he is. Have you ever known him not to be?" He sighed. "And a fine state I should be in, if he were to go and get himself killed. Well, there's nothing else for it. We shall have to go and round him up. I can't very well leave him wandering around out there with no knowledge of what he might be getting himself into." He stood up, striding purposefully towards the door. "Well come on, come on. Don't just sit there gaping." 

"Monsters." Turlough stood up very slowly, feeling the very familiar stirrings of fear twist deep within his stomach. "Wonderful. And to think that I was glad to have been brought in from the rain." 

"Cheer up!" called the Doctor, already disappearing down the long corridors of bookshelf and workbench. "At least you'll be at the seaside!" 

"I'm overjoyed." With weighted feet, Turlough trailed along in the other man's wake. Cold, wet, and now there were monsters as well. There were days when he couldn't help but feel that the universe was laughing at him. Today was definitely one such day. 

**********

The Doctor pushed his hands deep into his pockets, and strode along Blackpool Pier. It was cold and wet, but he had been in the TARDIS for a long time, and a walk in the fresh air felt good. Things had been strange since Tegan's sudden departure. Their relationship had often been fraught, but he had grown used to the young woman's presence, and she had been a good friend. Her leaving, so abrupt and unexpected, and coming at the end of a particularly trying adventure, had left him shaken. Turlough was not exactly the best of people to discuss such things with – not that the Doctor was particularly good at discussing things anyway. Hence the strange, compelling need to go for a long, brisk walk, even if it was in the dark, the rain, and a persistent, chilling wind. 

The pier, however, was not nearly long enough, and after walking all the way to the end, and staring for some while at the largely invisible sea, the Doctor turned back. He passed the TARDIS, seeing Turlough sheltering there looking miserable, and neglected to feel properly contrite. The boy could easily have sought a more comfortable shelter elsewhere, had he really put his mind to it. Pressing on, driven by his restlessness, the Doctor found himself first on the beach. The sand was soft and soaking, and his shoes sank into it, making walking awkward. He followed it along for a while anyway, the lights of the pier dwindling into the distance, noises from the town drifting towards him in raucous snatches with gusts of the wind. Occasionally he thought about going back, but by now the walk had warmed him, and he was beginning to enjoy himself. It really was good to leave the artificial air of the TARDIS behind every once in a while, and take a proper walk. And even if it was cold and wet, it was the Earth; and Earth had a strange way of feeling like home. Clambering over a rail and onto the pavement, the Doctor glanced back at the now small pier, and with a smile continued walking on his way. Turlough would have found somewhere better to wait by now, he was sure. He wanted to see where this restless urge would take him. 

Dusk went by him as he walked, turning gradually, and then with a sudden, final burst of speed, into night. The town was too bright for the stars to be visible, so the Doctor followed shop lights instead. There were many people about, and he enjoyed watching them all. So many sizes and shapes and colours; so many languages echoing about in the air around him. Young women smiled his way, and he smiled back in his usual, distracted fashion. The rain faded away. Eventually, the need to walk worked off on a hundred different pavements, he found himself back beside the beach, leaning over the rail and staring at the sand. Small objects moved back and forth, leaving odd tracks that he couldn't quite see, and he watched idly for a while. He supposed that they must be crabs, hurrying about their business; until gradually it dawned on him that crabs did not move like that. Crabs scurried. Whatever he was looking at, they seemed more to glide than to walk. Fumbling about through his many pockets, he produced a small torch, and pointed the beam onto the beach. For all that it had come from Woolworths, in 1978, it produced a brilliant white shaft of light, from a bulb bought a billion light years away. Swinging across the damp, sticky sand, it picked out a set of tracks that made his hearts beat a little bit faster. They were most assuredly not the tracks of a crab. Shortly afterwards the torch beam found the creature itself, and its light flared briefly in a bright reflection off a shining silver body. The Doctor clicked the torch off immediately. That was definitely not native wildlife. It was a Cybermat. 

For a moment he stood in indecision. He was a long way from the TARDIS, and aside from the torch he had little on his person that might be of use. He had a quick rummage in his pockets, finding a cricket ball, a length of string, a box of matches, and a handful of coinage from America in the 1770s. Not exactly an ideal Cyberman-battling arsenal. All the same, he was loath to walk away, even if just to find something more suitable. You never knew what a Cybermat would do – and this was Blackpool. Off-season, perhaps, but hardly a rural backwater. A local might easily cross paths with one of the little monsters, and the result was likely to be fatal. Muttering under his breath, and clambering over the railing, the Doctor dropped down onto the beach. It occurred to him as he did so that he was probably being foolhardy, but there seemed to be little option. With luck there was just the Cybermat to contend with; he really didn't want to come face to face with a Cyberman. Nor at any other time either. 

The sand was even more awkward to walk in here, thicker and wetter and heavier than before. His feet sank into it, sliding as he walked. At the same time it was helpful, making his steps all but inaudible, and giving him at least a little cover. He followed the tracks to where a hole had been dug out in the sand, perfectly Cybermat-sized, the sides reinforced with some kind of metal. A tunnel then, leading away under the beach. He crouched down beside it, considering his options. He couldn't fit into it. Neither could a Cyberman, which was something, although there was no reason to believe that it didn't lead into some bigger place, where a Cyberman might be hiding. The Doctor leaned down, peering into the hole, and shining his torch into its depths. He could see nothing but empty tunnel, blank and metallic grey, the walls reflecting his torchlight back at him as he moved it from side to side. Nothing. Not a Cybermat, not a clue, not a dicky bird. He straightened up again – and a bright, fierce searchlight blasted him straight in the eyes. Head full of thoughts of Cyber-enemies, he reacted instinctively, searching for cover that didn't exist, hoping for ideas that were none too quick about coming. A moment later he heard the thud of boots, as somebody vaulted the railing that edged the sand. 

"Hello?" It was a woman's voice, clear, and filled with the easy confidence of command. "My name is Colonel Maria Furnish. I'm with UNIT. I have to ask you to back away from that tunnel." 

"UNIT?" The Doctor straightened up, fingers relaxing slightly around the cricket ball that he had half considered hurling as a weapon. "It's quite all right, colonel. I do know what I'm doing." He frowned for a moment then, on edge from the light still assaulting his eyes. "Well, more or less." 

"Yes, sir. It's the 'less' that I'm worried about. If you'd come this way please. This isn't the place for civilians." 

"Just as well that I'm not one then, isn't it." He fumbled about in search of his UNIT ID, only to hear a chorus of clicking from what sounded like a veritable army of weaponry. He froze. "Yes, um... It would be nice not to be shot. If you wouldn't mind." 

"Sorry, sir. Everybody's a little jumpy. This is a large urban area, and we have a hostile presence right in the middle of it." She signalled with one arm, and the bright light dimmed a little. Blinking rapidly, the Doctor turned his head, looking back towards the railing. Behind it were dark, indistinct shapes, detail lost to the darkness behind the searchlight. Five or six soldiers at least, gunmetal glinting in each set of arms. He saw something else, too; something behind them. It looked like two other figures, hurrying towards the railing. A long coat swirled about the legs of the bigger, bulkier figure, but whoever he was, he was an anonymous silhouette in the night. 

"Yes, quite. I understand your concern, Colonel Furnish." Poise restored with his vision, the Doctor turned his attention to the colonel. She was tall, pretty in that sometimes unfathomable human way, with skin the same colour as the night-dark shadows that sprawled across the beach. She looked competent enough, with an easy authority that radiated out of every inch of her, but he had long learned to be cautious around army officers. Even UNIT, the supposed elite, was fond of employing people who liked their weapons more than their reason. "It is quite all right though. I do know what we're dealing with. I've handled these things before." 

"Be that as it may, sir, I think it's best that we wait for the Doctor. He was quite anxious that we come out here to find you, as soon as his other companion informed him that you were in the vicinity." 

"His other... Wait for _who?!_ " But before he could even attempt to get to the bottom of her strange statement, the two silhouettes that he had seen behind the railing clambered down onto the beach, a hubbub of soldierly objections following in their wake. The slighter of the two pulled ahead slightly, catching the light enough for the Doctor to see a flash of red hair, and a darker, redder stripe of tie. Turlough. The second figure was a deeper mystery. 

"Ah, Doctor." Whoever he was, Colonel Furnish turned towards him now, a certain relief showing in her voice. "I found your companion. I don't think there's any damage done, but I am going to have to insist that these civilians stay away from the beach and out of harm's way. I have enough to think about as it is, without your young friends making matters worse." 

"Now wait just a—" began the Doctor, but his objections ground to a halt when the burlier figure behind Turlough came at last into sharp relief. From the top of his curly head to the tips of his booted feet, he exuded an air of arrogance, shining brightly in the broad smile that he wore on his round, unfamiliar face. Unfamiliar, but by no means unrecognisable. Realisation dawning, the Doctor groaned. 

"Oh, good grief." At first he had had every intention of arguing. Now, when he saw what he was facing, his irritation drifted away, replaced with exasperation. "Well, dressed like that I don't really need to ask who you are, I suppose." 

"I like that! I suppose it's intended as an insult, but coming from a man dressed as a novelty cricketer, it doesn't exactly carry much weight." Hands on his lapels, the curly-haired man in the brightly coloured coat looked the new arrival up and down. "Hmm. Well I knew it had to be you as soon as I saw young Turlough. I suppose it _could_ be worse." 

"Doctor...?" Clearly confused, Colonel Furnish looked to the new arrival for an explanation, but he waved her questions away with a furiously multicoloured arm. 

"A moment, colonel, please. My companions and I have matters to discuss." 

"Not on the beach, Doctor. As I said, your companions are civilians, and as such—" 

"We all promise not to do anything wildly rash." He smiled at her in a manner that suggested he had no intention of being dissuaded and, after a moment, she gave an irritated huff of a sigh and turned away. Her booted feet thudded on the wet sand, as she stalked off to rejoin the other soldiers. As soon as she was gone, both Doctors rounded on each other in an energetic babble of indignation. 

"So I'm your companion, am I? Of all the nerve!" 

"Well in all fairness, you do look about the right age for it. Can't argue with appearances, my dear fellow." 

"Appearances can be extremely deceiving. Which in your case is probably just as well." 

"I beg your pardon?" The two of them immediately drew themselves up to their full height, like fighting cocks displaying before a battle. It gave the Fifth Doctor some satisfaction to see that he was fractionally taller than the new upstart, although the thick curls added at least an extra inch to his future self, which seemed a little like cheating. There was a noticeable weight difference in the newer version's favour as well, which also helped him to appear bigger in comparison. 

"Don't try to act like the wounded party. You sent those soldiers out here to look for your companion. You could quite easily have told them who I really am. It's not as if UNIT doesn't know that we change." 

"Yes, but the explanations are always so tiresome." The Sixth Doctor waved a dismissive hand. "And actually, I merely mentioned a tall, blond young fellow. She leaped to her own conclusions, which really isn't so hard to understand. I'm sorry, old boy, but if one is looking for experience and authority, then one naturally looks towards me." 

" _You?!_ Now wait just a—" 

"Oh, don't take it like that." The Sixth Doctor offered a placating smile that was just a shade too condescending to be entirely effective. "There's no point getting offended with me, for goodness sakes. It's just that I haven't had the chance to look at you from this perspective before. When I was you, I didn't realise quite how young we looked." He sniffed, somewhat disparagingly. "No wonder nobody ever took us seriously." 

"Plenty of people take me seriously! Although in that get up, I can't imagine that one could say the same for _you_." 

"And what's that supposed to mean?" 

"You know exactly what it's supposed to mean. Even by our standards, that's a truly obnoxious ensemble. Are you actively trying to frighten the universe to death?" 

" _You're_ wearing a stick of celery!" 

"And _you're_ wearing..." The Fifth Doctor's powers of communication trailed away from him as he stared upon the coat of clashing colours, and he gestured vaguely at it in wordless indignation. "... _that!_ " 

"Yes, well." Stepping very nervously between them, Turlough looked from one to the other rather as a rabbit might look at a pair of potential predators. "Much though I'd enjoy watching the pair of you squabbling with each other all night, isn't there supposed to be some sort of danger about? So if we've all quite finished..." 

"I believe we have, yes," said the Sixth Doctor, with an air of wounded pride. His previous self, softening slightly at Turlough's interjection, offered his companion an awkward smile. 

"Good," said Turlough, before frowning at the sight of the pair of them, so wildly different in what appeared to be every way. "He really is you then? In a manner of speaking, I mean." 

"Unfortunately yes," said both Doctors at once, and then glared at each other. Turlough could not help but smile. 

"Well, I've seen it before, so I probably shouldn't be too surprised. All the same..." 

"It can be rather off-putting from our perspective too," his Doctor told him, and for the first time, the Sixth Doctor's expression relaxed slightly. 

"That's true. Being confronted with one's earlier self is a shock to the system to put it mildly. Anyway, for what it's worth, old man, I'm willing to overlook our little _contretemps_. We have work to do." 

The Fifth Doctor's hackles arose again. " _You're_ willing to overlook it?" he began, but Turlough's raised eyebrows brought his outburst skidding to a halt, and he let out a long, hissing sigh like a jet of escaping steam. "Yes, very well. We do have more pressing concerns, I suppose." 

"These Cybermat things," prompted Turlough, in a clear effort to get matters back on track. The Fifth Doctor nodded. 

"Yes, there's a colony of them below ground. I was trying to assess the situation when the soldiers arrived. I found one tunnel entrance, but there could easily be more. It's too small for us to use though, so there's no telling where it leads." 

"Hmm." The Sixth Doctor crouched down beside the hole, much as his previous self had done earlier. "It's well constructed, isn't it. That suggests a long term presence, which certainly points towards some sort of plan. I wonder what they're up to." He nodded slowly, in an attempt to look grave that was – Turlough couldn't help thinking – seriously undermined by his outfit. "We should get those soldiers away from here. All these lights being flashed around could easily get themselves noticed, and once the locals start trying to see what's going on, the Cybermats are bound to realise something is amiss." 

"Quite," said the Fifth Doctor, crouching down beside him. "If something were to trigger their defences, things could get messy very quickly. Why such a big UNIT presence?" 

"Oh, you know what they're like." The Sixth Doctor pulled a torch from his pocket, and poked the end of it into the sand at the entrance to the tunnel, testing the stability of the construction. "They rounded me up a while ago to help with all of this, and when I wanted to come out here to find you, they insisted on coming along. I did try to sneak out the back way, but I miscalculated." 

"He got stuck climbing out of the bathroom window," clarified Turlough, earning himself a reproachful glower. The Fifth Doctor smiled, however, seeming to relax for the first time since the Sixth had made his appearance. 

"Well, never mind that now. My TARDIS isn't too far from here. There's sure to be something on board that we can use to investigate more thoroughly." 

"Ah," said the Sixth Doctor, and lowered himself down to sit, rather awkwardly, on the sand. "Yes." 

"That doesn't sound encouraging," said the Fifth Doctor. Turlough, hands in pockets, rocked back and forth on his heels. He was suddenly faced with an overpowering urge to wander away and examine the surf. Instead, as the silence lengthened, he realised that the explanation was going to be left up to him. 

"Well it's not as though it was my fault!" he protested, voice turned shrill in indignation. "I could hardly have stopped them. There were dozens of them, and they seemed to be acting on your orders." 

"Who are we talking about?" asked the Fifth Doctor. "And what does any of this have to do with my TARDIS?" 

" _Our_ TARDIS," corrected his Sixth self, smoothing his long coat as it spread out on the sand. "So it's not even as though I have no claim to it." 

"UNIT took it," Turlough finished quickly, recognising the signs of an imminent explosion. "It's back at their base, in the Doctor's... the other Doctor's... workshop place. It's quite alright." 

"But of precious little use to us right now," the Fifth Doctor retorted. The Sixth shrugged his brightly clad shoulders. 

"Well it's not my fault either," he said. "How was I supposed to know that you were here as well? I asked them to go and fetch my TARDIS, and they turned up with somebody else's, and a schoolboy into the bargain." 

"I am not a schoolboy," protested Turlough, bristling. To his lack of surprise, neither Doctor registered the objection. Instead they shared a protracted glower, before breaking it off with a pair of infuriated sighs that matched perfectly. Remarkably this made the pair of them smile. 

"Wonderful," said the Fifth, and wandered over to sit on a rock beside his later self. "Oh well. Pockets, everybody." 

"Yes, because wild improvisation is always such a good idea," muttered the Sixth, then held up a hand to forestall any renewal of hostility, and began to rifle through his pockets. He piled up the results on the sand just in front of him – a ball of string, a long chain of paperclips, a slightly dog-eared copy of _Robinson Crusoe_ , and an overly-large pocket calculator that looked as though it might have dated from the 1970s. In an effort to be helpful, Turlough added to the collection with a crumpled paper bag of rather sticky barley sugar, and a small transistor radio. His version of the Doctor gave a sorrowful sigh. 

"You know, it's at times like this that I quite miss the sonic screwdriver," he said. The Sixth Doctor sniffed disparagingly. 

"We do much better without it," he said, his tone decidedly imperious. "It limited creative thought, and acted as a crutch that we can well do without." He gave the little pile of objects a morose poke. "Although it was very useful at times, yes." 

"A lot more useful than string and cricket balls." The Fifth Doctor added his own collection to the pile, and frowned. "Well, we could use the radio, I suppose. With a few modifications." He picked it up, turning it over in his hands. It was one that Turlough had had since his schoolboy days, although the Doctor was not to know of the lonely misfit who had used it, not to listen to the latest pop hits on Radio 1, but rather to scan the upper atmosphere for possible broadcasts from space. Not to know, perhaps, but rather to suspect. "It would be a lot easier to modify it with the sonic screwdriver though." 

"You're the one who blew it up," grumbled his Sixth self. The Fifth glared. 

"I did not! That was the Terileptils, as well you know. And anyway, I thought it 'limited creative thought, and—'" 

"Yes, quite," interjected Turlough, who was beginning to know how the Doctor must have felt, during all those years trapped between squabbling companions. "Planet to save, Doctor. _Doctors_. Fight later." 

"Yes, yes." A little testy, but clearly in agreement, the Sixth Doctor clapped his hands together. "Very well, so we use the radio. It will take a bit of work, but I don't see any major disadvantages. Are we all in agreement?" 

"We might be if we understood what was going on," said Turlough, rather pointedly. The Sixth Doctor sighed. 

"Radio waves," he said, as though somehow that explained everything. "We're going to capture a Cybermat." 

"With a radio?" Turlough looked to his own Doctor for explanation, but the Fifth version was clearly concentrating on the business at hand, his head bent over the little set. Similarly disinclined to explain was his successor, who turned to pore over the radio as well. For a moment Turlough stared at them, morose in his apparent redundancy, until it occurred to him precisely what he was looking at. Bent over the little, black plastic box, the backs of two very different heads formed an interesting tableau. One set of broad shoulders, a riot of red and yellow, and topped with orange-yellow curls, alongside a more familiar, much slighter form, crowned with fine gold. And yet they were the same man, intrinsically, if not at all obviously. Turlough could not help but wonder at the thought of it. His world was a strange one indeed. The notion made him smile to himself, and he was just considering speaking up, when the thud of booted feet on the sand made them all turn, bringing the moment to an end. Colonel Furnish was returning, her expression, highlighted by the ever present UNIT searchlights, one of decidedly limited patience. Both Doctors heaved sighs of identical frustration. 

"Gentlemen." Furnish came to a halt directly in front of the tunnel, although she gave it only the most cursory of glances. There was a burly sergeant at her side this time, and both of them carried guns. Neither gave the impression that they were returning merely to hear a status report, and Turlough, who had an awkward relationship with authority figures at the best of times, felt his pulse race accordingly. He had sat down at the Sixth Doctor's encouragement, but he rather wished now that he had not. To be seated was in direct opposition to his flight or fight response. 

"I've given you long enough to talk things over, I think." Rocking on her heels, her unholstered handgun tapping impatiently upon the perfectly straight seam of her trousers, the colonel frowned down at the man she knew as the Doctor. "So far I'm seeing nothing _but_ talk. It's time for more decisive action, wouldn't you say?" 

"Ah, colonel." Rising to his feet in a fashion that made his coat bloom and billow out about him, the Sixth Doctor summoned a grand smile, and edged himself in front of the pile of assorted pocket junk that formed their unlikely arsenal. "So good to see you." 

"Is it." Her voice carried a note of ice, a distinct warning that he should not attempt any misdirection or tomfoolery. "What's going on here, Doctor? It's my understanding that the country, if not the world, is in serious danger. So far all that I see is three men playing on the beach." She stepped past him, the better to look at what it was that he was hiding. "String and cricket balls? We're all in danger, and you're confronting the issue with string and cricket balls?" 

"Not quite," said the Fifth Doctor, who had opened up Turlough's radio, and was doing something to the inner workings with a handful of unfolded paperclips. It squawked occasionally in quiet protest; bursts of muted white noise that he was clearly attempting to calibrate. "Things have been quiet here, which suggests that our cyber friends are busy about some business down in their tunnels. It's best that we find out what that is." 

"And you're going to do that with a cricket ball?" she asked him. He smiled, the bright, innocent smile that Turlough knew so well, and which stood in such stark, striking contrast to the smirk of the man beside him; the man that he was to become. If Furnish was swayed by the smile, she showed no sign of it, her expression turning into a frown that might have shaken a lesser man. The frown held for several moments, then she crouched down beside the tunnel entrance, and attempted to peer inside. 

"We could destroy this easily enough," she said. "There are any number of explosives that could pass through that entrance, and if push comes to shove, we could always bomb the beach. That would seal your 'cyber friends' inside effectively enough." 

"But we couldn't be sure that it would kill them," said the Sixth Doctor. "Certainly not all of them, when we have no idea how many of them there are; or of what else might be down there. Whatever they're doing under this beach, they'd simply carry on with it until it was possible to get out again. It may not even be necessary for them to get out. A fine situation we'd all be in if they're tunnelling down to the centre of the Earth, and you just leave them to get on with it." 

"Is that likely?" she asked. He nodded slowly. 

"It's not without precedent. Please keep your soldiers back, colonel. We're running enough risks as it is, with so many people on the beach. All it would take is for one Cybermat to see us up here, and they might seal themselves inside their tunnels to ensure their defences. The last thing that you want is an army of Cybermats shutting themselves up beneath the skin of your planet. It's an infection that needs thoroughly sluicing." 

"Hmm." She hesitated, then stood up, brushing sand from her pristine trousers in a brisk, efficient manner. "Very well, Doctor. I do see your point. All the same, this is by no means an easy situation. We have to keep the civilians back, and that's no easy task. There's already quite the crowd forming behind our cordon, and come daylight that's only going to get worse. If your Cybermats have cause to scan the vicinity, they may well notice that something is amiss. I'd suggest that we get this dealt with before dawn, agreed?" 

"Agreed," said the Fifth Doctor, and gave a bright orange paperclip one final twist. He held up his finished work then; the radio festooned with strings of rainbow-coloured clips, forming strange circuitry of his own devising. The little radio was singing a peculiar song that was three quarters static and one quarter broken radio stations; snatches of music and chatter in several languages, all twisted together into a new and unique broadcast. "That should do it." 

"Should it." She did not sound remotely convinced. The Sixth Doctor crouched down alongside his earlier self, and took the radio, frowning at the babble of white noise and assorted curiosities as though he were a connoisseur identifying a work of art. 

"That's very good," he said after a moment. The Fifth Doctor gave a half smile. 

"Thank you," he said dryly. "I can't imagine where I get it from." 

"But what does it do?" asked Furnish. Standing up, the Fifth Doctor gave the radio a demonstrative little wave. 

"Think of it as a piece of cheese," he told her, stepping around her armed escort with a ginger air. "We put it at the tunnel's entrance, and wait for our little friends down there to take the bait." 

"Hopefully just one of them," added the Sixth Doctor. The Fifth, in the act of crouching down before the tunnel, glanced up at him. 

"Hopefully," he conceded, and slid the quietly squawking radio just inside. "Everybody get back, where you won't be visible." 

"And then what?" asked Furnish. She gestured to her sergeant to step back, but her expression did not exactly suggest great faith. The Sixth Doctor beamed at her, in a manner that spoke of supreme confidence. 

"We capture it!" he announced, as though it were obvious. "A little reprogramming, a little electronic artistry, one might say, and then we release it to return to its friends. Our very own cybernetic Trojan rat." 

"That sounds insane," she told him, and he frowned, looking hurt. 

"Hardly, colonel, hardly. I am not given to acts of insanity, I assure you. Once we've seen what our little friends are up to, we shall be much better placed to know what we should do." 

"I have specialists standing by with enough plastic explosive to handle all of the robot rat things that this beach could possibly contain. I assure you, Doctor, I already know exactly what we should do." 

"We'll see," he told her, eyebrows raised in obvious disapproval. She was unswayed. 

"Undoubtedly. And there's no need to look at me in that fashion. When you turned up here, my superiors ordered me to let you handle this, but they also warned me that you might be difficult. Let me very clear, Doctor. When we first discovered these creatures, they killed three of my men. Several civilians have been found in this area with unexplained injuries, and we can only assume that the Cybermats are responsible for that as well. We've done our best to be subtle about things, and all that it's got us is dead bodies washing in with the tide. I have no intention of allowing that to continue." 

"No, of course not." He sighed irritably, hands deep in his lurid pockets. "But I've already explained my thinking on the subject. Blowing up this tunnel will get you nowhere but deeper in ignorance. And what if there's a full scale cyber-base down there, with Cybermen into the bargain? I can assure you that a little plastic explosive poked down a hole is not going to be any deterrent there, and _bombing Blackpool_ is hardly—" 

"And I assure _you_ , Doctor, that—" 

"Ssh," hissed the Fifth Doctor suddenly, from where he was crouched close behind the tunnel's entrance. "I think I hear something." 

"Trouble?" asked Furnish, her handgun leaping immediately to readiness. He shook his head. 

"I don't think so. Just a change in the frequency of the static. Something is examining our little radio trap. It might be about to take the bait." 

"Excellent." Crouching down alongside his earlier self, the Sixth Doctor rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. "Be ready. We need to be quick if we're to stop it from broadcasting an alert to its friends." 

"I know." Slowly and quietly, the Fifth Doctor slipped out of his coat. "Grab it, zap it, and hope for the best." He sighed. "Oh for a sonic screwdriver." 

"Zap it? _Zap?!_ Oh, for goodness sakes." The Sixth Doctor rolled his eyes heavenward. "I really didn't regenerate a moment too soon." 

"Somehow I can't believe that now is really the best time for a debate on the finer points of language." 

"Is it not? One could argue that it's all part and parcel of saving the world." They glared at each other, both bristling in matching irritation, when quite suddenly the squawking radio burst apart in a shower of sparks. Turlough jumped violently, startled, and the two Doctors reacted as one. They spun back to the tunnel's entrance just in time to see the silver, rounded head of a Cybermat shoot out into the sand, its little metal feelers waving in the air as it scanned the assassinated radio. The Fifth Doctor leapt for it, his readied coat billowing out as he moved. Clearly alarmed, the Cybermat jolted forward, but its speed was limited on the sand, and it was ensnared in a moment. Both Doctors fell upon it then, wrapping its antennae and cilia in material, and fumbling together on its underside with fingernails, paperclips and string. Whatever they were doing, it seemed to work, for a few moments later they laid the thing down, and it stayed where it was put, half on its side, jury-rigged embellishments sprouting out in every direction. Turlough edged closer to it, peering down upon it from on high. 

"That's it?" he asked, when it failed to do anything lethal. "That's the monster you said was on the beach? It's not very big." 

"Size is hardly the issue, Turlough," said his Doctor. "After all, think of mosquitoes. Tiny, but frequently deadly." 

"Yes, but..." Feeling slightly braver, Turlough nudged the thing with his foot. "Mosquitoes are horrible, bitey little things. This is actually sort of cute." 

"I suppose it is, in a way," said the Sixth Doctor, tugging free the coat in order to reveal the Cybermat completely. "It's still deadly though. The Cybermen use them as scouts, technicians, attack dogs. That sort of thing. They're more than capable of killing if they consider it necessary, and they have quite a variety of methods at their disposal. This one alone could probably wipe out the lot of us with a bit of effort. Certainly the colonel's revolver would be unlikely to dissuade it." 

"Unfortunately true," said the Fifth, before rather negating the entire speech by bending down to examine it from mere inches away. "Hmm. Well, it's going to be something of a patchwork job, isn't it. Unless we take it back to the TARDIS, that is. Where's yours?" 

"On the other side of town. Yours is closer." The Sixth glanced skyward, in search of an approximation of the time. "It would still waste valuable time though." 

"Fine. Patchwork it is, then. We'll just have to hope that it can get far enough inside before any of the others notice." Sitting cross-legged on the sand, the Fifth Doctor rubbed his hands together. "Hand me what's left of that radio could you, Turlough? And be careful, it's probably hot." 

"I'll get it," said Furnish, bending down to pick the small box up off the sand. She winced when she did so, and almost dropped it again. 

"Careful," said the Sixth. She did not look at him. 

"I am being careful. I think I stabbed myself on something. These paperclips, probably." 

"Sorry," apologised the Fifth, offering her a smile that, twinned with his cross-legged stance and general air of enthusiasm, presented an image of guileless youth. It was an illusion that had won over more than one potentially hostile figure in the past, but it had no effect at all upon Furnish. Handing him the radio, her expression remained blank. 

"Thank you." He examined it delicately, passing its dangling strings of paperclips to his future self, who settled down beside him. Once again they worked together, one brain, in effect split between two bodies and two personalities. Turlough wanted to offer to help, just in order to feel a little less useless, but he could see that he would merely get in the way. Their partnership, for all the bickering, seemed quite flawless. It was not long before they both looked up, wearing a pair of broad, cheerful smiles that were almost identical. 

"Perfect!" said the Sixth, and settled the Cybermat back the right way up. Held together with string and paperclips, it was hardly the perfect tool that it once had been, but from some angles it looked almost the same. "We should do this more often." 

"Yes. What we really need is to give the Time Lords more ammunition." His Fifth self smiled nonetheless. "We do make rather a good team though." 

"If you want a job doing well..." quoted the Sixth. They both laughed, and Turlough rolled his eyes. 

"I think I prefer you two when you're at each others throats. What's next?" 

"Oh, nothing much." His Doctor gave the Cybermat a little nudge, and with a curious little bleeping noise, it burst into life, racing around in an ungainly circle, apparently chasing its tail. The Sixth Doctor coughed. 

"Hmm. It's probably just reorientating itself." 

"Quite," agreed the Fifth. Apparently they were right for, a few moments later, the creature straightened itself out, and with one last bleep, disappeared down the tunnel. Turlough picked up what remained of his radio, little more than a shell now, and half filled with sand. 

"I was quite fond of that," he said. The Sixth Doctor clapped him on the back, with surprising force. 

"Never mind, old chap. Needs must, greater good, all that sort of thing. Now all we need to do is follow it." 

"Follow it?" asked Turlough, baffled. Both Doctors stood up. 

"In a manner of speaking," elaborated his incarnation, retrieving his coat from where it lay abandoned on the sand. "Colonel, we'll need to borrow one of your radios, if you'd be so kind. One of the sets that you use in your cars ought to be perfect." 

"Oh, I don't think that will be necessary." She spoke quietly, the brisk, easy confidence of her tone gone. In its place was a dull, empty monotone. Her arm, curiously jerky in its motion, brought up her gun to bear. "Sergeant, I think we've let these men fool around for long enough. I'm placing them under arrest." 

"Now wait just a minute!" began the Fifth Doctor, his temper flaring. The Sixth Doctor stepped forward. 

"Colonel? Are you quite sure that you're feeling alright?" 

"Stay where you are please, sir." The sergeant had raised his weapon as well now, although he looked slightly confused. "Just come along quietly, and there'll be no need for any unpleasantness." 

"I don't think you quite understand," said the Sixth, his eyes still focused on the colonel. She was staring straight ahead, at a fixed point somewhere out on the horizon, eyes blinking with a steady, rhythmic beat. "Colonel Furnish? Are you really sure that you want us under arrest?" 

"Very sure. If you would assist me in removing them from the beach, sergeant, I shall take it from there." 

"Yes, with a quick bullet in the back at the earliest opportunity." The Sixth Doctor folded his arms. "I for one am staying right here." 

"Likewise," added the Fifth. Turlough, paling rapidly when it became clear that they were supposed to be standing up to two armed soldiers, swallowed hard. 

"Er..." was all that he managed, but he stayed where he was. The only other option seemed to be running, which was clearly not a good idea. Slowly the colonel's gun moved in an arc to cover all three of them. 

"If you resist, you can be shot," she told them. "I can deem you a threat to security." 

"Yes, we're an obvious threat," said the Sixth Doctor encouragingly, looking directly at the sergeant. "An overgrown schoolboy, a man who couldn't look dangerous if he tried, and me. And I assure you that the most deadly thing about me is my wit." 

"Which isn't too deadly," muttered the Fifth, who was none too happy about how he had just been categorised. His Sixth self shot him a brief glare. 

"Are you really likely to countenance our deaths, sergeant?" 

"He'll do as he's ordered." The colonel moved a little closer, gun sweeping in a steady, smooth arc. As she neared, a small trail of blood became visible, trickling its way down her fingers. There were a pair of tiny holes on the back of her left hand, red and inflamed, a slight bruising beginning to spread its way out around them. 

"As _you_ are ordered, you mean?" asked the Sixth. Very slowly, very carefully, the Fifth Doctor changed his grip on his coat, still hanging over one arm. The sergeant was watching the Sixth Doctor, his gun pointed in that direction as well. The colonel's attention still seemed focused on the horizon, although it was doubtful that it was really the sea that she was watching. She moved another step forward, reaching out her free hand for Turlough, the bloodstained fingers heading with steady certainty for his wrist. Reacting with a typical lack of nerve, he twitched aside, and for one tiny instant her resolve faltered. The Fifth Doctor darted forward immediately. 

He swung his coat like a matador, snagging her gun hand in a move so neat that it seemed almost practised, entangling her arm so thoroughly that it was useless to her. It was only a mild obstacle. Her other hand swung up with inhuman speed, catching him a blow across the side of the head that sent him spinning away across the sand. Her gun hand was still trapped, however, and she was forced to turn her attention to it, struggling with the material wound about it. Startled, the sergeant swung his own gun to cover the Fifth Doctor, which was apparently what the Sixth had been waiting for. He jumped forward, knocking the gun aside, and seizing the soldier by the collar. It was not a well-matched fight. The Sixth Doctor was not a small man, and he possessed a solidity of build that might easily have given him an advantage against an ordinary opponent, but not so a military man. He was shoved aside in seconds, but Turlough surprised himself by being ready. Throwing his broken radio behind the sergeant, he aimed for the rocks that sprouted periodically along the beach, creating a scratching, clattering sound that made the soldier, already on edge, swing about to cover his rear. The Fifth Doctor, still sprawled on the sand, snatched up his abandoned cricket ball, and hurled it with a wicked spin. It struck the sergeant on the back of the head, and he fell without a sound. 

"Howzat!" shouted the Fifth Doctor, with obvious pride. Picking himself up off the ground, the Sixth Doctor hauled him to his feet. 

"Don't let's celebrate yet." He nodded meaningfully towards the railing. Witness to the entire affair, the assembled UNIT soldiers were now heading their way, each faceless silhouette carrying a gun. If Turlough had been pale before, he was now almost snow white. 

"Doctor...?" he asked, backing slowly away towards the surf. The two Doctors exchanged a quick, anxious look, and nearby, the colonel at last shook off the clinging coat. Gun freed, she once again brought it to bear, at the same time bellowing at the advancing soldiers. 

"Kill them!" she roared, her curiously monotone voice echoing about the quiet beach. "Kill them now!" 

" _Kill_ them?" It was a young lieutenant in the lead, a bright, sparklingly silver gun gripped in a steady, level hand. "Unarmed men? The Doctor?" 

"You _question_ me?" She turned on him, her gun turning to point in his direction. He reacted instantly, stepping aside and moving to disarm her. He failed. Her strength was clearly greater than he expected, and she shook him off easily, swinging the gun back around to point at the Doctors. The lieutenant, however, was not to be discouraged. Clearly confused, he went back on the assault, UNIT training, to say nothing of UNIT experience, over-riding the usual army protocols. After a second, another soldier joined him, the others keeping the TARDIS trio under guard. Subdued at last, Colonel Furnish let out a roar of unbridled fury. Seconds later, the beach began to tremble. 

"Uh oh," said the Sixth Doctor, as Turlough, eyes widening, began to fear for his rising pulse rate. Her roar swelling to an ululating screech, Furnish shook herself free of her captors, hurling both of them aside as though they weighed nothing. Her gun was gone, but she seemed unconcerned, bearing down upon the Doctors as the ground beneath them vibrated ever more. Before she was halfway to them, the little tunnel entrance, all but forgotten in the struggles, suddenly spat forth a Cybermat. Another. Two, three, four – in moments there were dozens of them; some small, buzzing about in the air like flies, others the size of rats, rabbits, even badgers. They darted left and right, antennae waving, cilia bristling, some with metal teeth that snapped and clashed. One leapt for the throat of a UNIT soldier, its wheels spinning in the air as it flew, and the man dropped to the ground, killed instantly. 

"Stay together!" Taking command, the young lieutenant herded his men into a close group, but the Cybermats were not to be stopped with bullets from mere revolvers. One or two of the soldiers, armed with heavier calibre rifles, scored some lucky shots, whilst the others were effectively unarmed. Turlough, taking the best line of defence that he could think of, waded out into the sea. The creatures did not follow him, but he was left having to duck and dart aside, as several of them fired laser blasts his way. Meanwhile, Colonel Furnish was still striding steadily towards the two Doctors, a squadron of Cybermats falling in behind her. The Fifth Doctor snatched up his coat again, and the Sixth pulled off his own, but whilst they might successfully net a handful in such fashion, it was clear that they were badly under-prepared. 

"This settles it," said the Sixth, backing up nervously. "I'm rebuilding the sonic screwdriver." 

"Because a screwdriver would be so much help at this precise moment?" pressed the Fifth, sarcasm showing beneath his evident alarm. The Sixth Doctor shot him an exasperated glare. 

"At the moment our arsenal consists of a cravat and a stick of celery. I think even a screwdriver is an improvement on that." They locked eyes for a moment, shared irritation charging the air between them, before suddenly, with unspoken agreement, they stopped back-pedalling. A ring of Cybermats formed around them, little black eyes staring up from an emotionless circle of sand-scratched, silver-coloured faces. Several sets of antennae buzzed, sparking electrical signals crackling as a precursor to their deadly laser fire. Slowly the circle closed in. 

Surrounded on all sides by the enemy, the two Doctors exchanged a single glance. There was no further acknowledgement, no more obvious communication. There was no need for any. Separate individuals though they were, they were at hearts the same man; and as the circle tightened, as metal teeth gnashed, and sparking antennae lashed at the air, they tensed their muscles and leaped. Over the heads of the Cybermats, even as the laser bolts began to fire, they hurled themselves without artifice or design. Behind them, in their circle, the Cybermats poured laser fire into a space that was now empty, and the bolts had no target left but each other. They collided in mid air, forming a fleeting, shining ball of lightning that expanded and burst apart with a sound like the crack of a whip. Hurled backwards by the blast, Furnish lay on the sand, the soles of her boots smouldering, her once polished buttons blackened by soot. Closer to the heart of the fire than she had been, the circle of Cybermats had been obliterated completely. 

"What in heaven's name...?" Staggering to her feet, Furnish shook her head, dabbing uncertainly at her eyes with hands covered in sand and fine ash. It took her mere moments to size up the situation, and she reacted then with speed. Grabbing a rifle from the hands of a nearby soldier, she bellowed an order at him, and he took off up the beach with alacrity, a companion beside him for covering fire. The pair of them made double time, dodging laser fire and tiny, flying Cybermats as they ran. Furnish, meanwhile, was a woman with renewed purpose. She backed up to the rest of her unit, tightening their formation, blasting away at the Cybermats all the while. 

"Well," said the Sixth Doctor, as he climbed back to his feet. "That went very nicely, I must say." 

"Duck!" His Fifth self dragged him aside just in time, and a particularly large Cybermat, its teeth snapping in the air, launched itself past his left shoulder. Its wheels spun as it flew through the air, its cilia waving like tiny, improbable wings. The Sixth Doctor sat up, his dignity somewhat battered, his curls and his clothes, filled with sand. 

"Hmm," he said, and clambered back upright rather more slowly this time. "Or perhaps it didn't." As another Cybermat shot past, on its way to some other target, he lashed it neatly out of the air with his coat and, striking a rock as it fell, it broke into two hissing halves. Acrid smoke curled upward, and the Sixth Doctor gave a supremely satisfied smile. " _That_ , on the other hand..." 

"Just watch your back," advised the Fifth Doctor, and they fell into an awkward formation of their own, dodging laser beams, kicking up sand, battling with their coats in an effort to stave off the tide. There were still many Cybermats, but the newly restored Furnish, no matter her disorientation, clearly knew what she was doing. Before long the soldiers that she had sent up the beach were returning, and they brought with them newer and better firepower. Furnish called out a retreat, and with Turlough stumbling out of his refuge in the sea, and the two Doctors cracking at the air with their by now smouldering coats, the group struggled to disengage from the cyber-horde. The little creatures regrouped then, forming a solid line, of two, three, even four deep in places, and began to advance. 

"Fire at will, gentlemen," said Furnish, and behind her, up on the pavement behind the railing, the two soldiers that she had redirected revealed their hand. Grenades. They rained down on the beach like black hail, and as other soldiers climbed up to join them, so the onslaught increased. It did not take long. A few Cybermats managed to break through, briefly. One soldier fell, stricken, back over the railing. Otherwise it was a decisive battle. When Furnish called a halt, and the smoke cleared, it was to a scene of devastation. The Cybermats were nothing but twisted, ruined parts, the beach a mass of craters and artificial dunes. Brushing sand from her uniform, the colonel flashed a smile that, in its air of supreme self-satisfaction, was oddly reminiscent of Doctor Six. 

"Well, that's _that_ ," she said, with a new note of cheer. 

"It would appear so," said the Fifth Doctor, with none of her joy. Around them, members of the public were emerging from behind parked cars and pillar boxes, stunned by what they had seen. A few, who had strayed too close to the railing during the firefight, were sprawled awkwardly on the tarmac, and would clearly never be moving again. There were dead soldiers as well, some five or six of them, for the most part unidentifiable now. Their bodies had been caught up in the grenade fire, and lay tangled up with the mangled remnants of the Cybermats. Furnish clearly caught the note of approbation in the Doctor's voice, for she looked, for a moment, slightly guilty. 

"I didn't say that it was ideal. Just that it was over. Sometimes you have to do what you have to do." 

"Undoubtedly." Shaking the sand from his coat, the Fifth Doctor turned to Turlough, shivering and shaking beside him. He looked thoroughly miserable, soaked from the waist down, and hardly much drier above. The Doctor draped his coat across his shoulders, and the bedraggled boy nodded a teeth-chattering thanks. "Well, much though it may look like it, it's not over yet. If somebody would kindly tell me where my TARDIS is, we still have to find out what's going on in those tunnels." He turned back to his later self, who was doing his best to restore some order to his tattered appearance. "Doctor?" 

"My pleasure," said the Sixth, and with Turlough between them, they climbed over the railing, and left the soldiers to the grim task of clearing up. 

**********

It was a subdued group who gathered in the TARDIS control room a few hours later. The two Doctors, Turlough and Colonel Furnish – her rush of adrenalin long burnt out – had little to say. It had been the sort of night that did not encourage further conversation. The Doctors worked together at the display screen on the console, calibrating it to work in synchrony with the little device that they had wired into their Trojan Cybermat. 

"I appreciate all of your help," said Furnish after a short while. The Sixth Doctor grunted a reply, busy at the computer keyboard. The Fifth glanced up long enough to offer her a small, if harried, smile. 

"All in a day's work, colonel," he told her. Turlough, holding a particularly large mug of tea between two hands that still felt decidedly chilly, recognised the sadness behind the smile. The Doctor was the sort of man who could easily regret the loss of so many Cybermats, to say nothing of the deaths of the soldiers and civilians. It seemed cruelly ironic that somebody with his sensibilities should find himself caught up in such things so often. 

"So, what happens now?" she asked. The Sixth Doctor clapped his hands together with a sound like a pistol shot. 

"We watch the screen," he said, and reached up to tap on it with a freshly cleaned nail. He had somehow contrived to clean himself up almost completely, although a proper rejuvenation of his appearance was no doubt dependent on his returning to his own TARDIS, and his own, distinctive wardrobe. His smoke-blackened, sand-strewn hair had been restored to its former glory, red-gold and energetically curly once again. It looked almost as bullish as he did. Everybody gathered around, but at first the screen seemed only prepared to show them static; then, after a few moments, a broken picture that made little sense. It was only a little while later, with much muttering and tapping on the keyboard, that the image cleared, and showed them what the sabotaged Cybermat was seeing. 

It was a base. A big, underground base, built somewhere beneath the surface of the planet, with rough-hewn walls, and giant banks of computer controls. There was an unfinished air to it somehow, the walls bare rock and tumbling, unshored sand; the floor more of the same. Computer panels stood stranded in odd places, unconnected to anything, lights that should have flashed and pulsed instead staying dark. Huge cobwebs swept across the ceiling, and dust and sand were strewn in piles, anywhere where they had not been swept aside by the passage of the industrious little Cybermats. Of them there was no sign. Presumably all had been a part of the battle, and were now destroyed. Onward rolled the spy, its radio parts and paperclips transmitting further. Past more cobwebs, more piles of sand, trickling down from uncompleted walls. 

It came at last to a rounded chamber, where three figures lay. Cybermen. Their cloth faces were damp and decayed, their metal-shrouded bodies showing signs of rust. Seawater stood in scattered puddles, and marks of it showed on the walls, where it had washed in and out with the tide. The Sixth Doctor whistled quietly. 

"I haven't seen that type in a long while," he said. Beside him, the Fifth Doctor nodded. 

"They must have been here years," he added. "Since almost the beginning, perhaps." 

"Looks as though the sea was too much for them." The Sixth gave a quiet sigh, that might have meant anything. "Lying dead down there all these years... I suppose the Cybermats must have kept the plan going, whatever it was. Do you have any idea when that tunnel on the beach first appeared, colonel?" 

"No more than a week ago." She moved closer to the screen, staring at the dead, seaweed-draped figures with a kind of awe. "Fascinating. Truly fascinating." 

"Indeed," said the Sixth, then let out a louder, more decisive sigh. "Well, at a guess, their faithful little friends were finishing up some sort of work. It's possible that they'll have been in contact with a distant base somewhere, but I doubt it. All the same, you should keep an extra ear out for radio broadcasts for a while. It's more than likely that any base these creatures would have been reporting to is long out of use though. I probably put it that way myself, several lifetimes ago." 

"So we can assume that the tunnels are safe?" asked Furnish. The Fifth Doctor nodded. 

"See that the entrance is filled in. And be wary of future subsidence. This base was clearly never finished, and the walls don't look too strong. But there's no danger here, colonel. None at all, not any more." 

"Thank you." She held out her hand, and he shook it, smiling a little sadly. 

"I can't exactly say that it's been a pleasure." 

"No. Not for me either. Another time... Well, we'll see. In the meantime, thank you for everything - and not least for not holding a grudge. I don't entirely remember, but I have an idea that I tried to kill you." 

"Oh, sooner or later almost everybody tries to do that," said the Sixth Doctor. The Fifth smiled rather more warmly. 

"Painfully true. Well, that's that I suppose. Can we drop you somewhere, colonel?" 

"Me?" She looked about the console room, an eyebrow arching in speculation. "Hmm. Well, it's tempting, but no. I have reports that needed filing yesterday, and several hundred telephone calls to make. Plus there's a lot to sort out still at the beach. The earthquake was mercifully localised, but as to everything else..." She smiled. "No offence, but I've heard tales of what happens when people accept lifts in this thing. They don't seem to get anywhere terribly quickly." 

"They get to all sorts of places very quickly indeed," said the Sixth Doctor, with a note of indignation. 

"Just not necessarily the places they intended," added the Fifth, and received a combative glare from his future self. Turlough smiled. 

"Here we go again," he muttered quietly. "I'll show you out, colonel." 

"Thank you." She followed him to the door, offering a brisk nod to both Doctors before she left. The Sixth Doctor sighed then, and held out a hand to his previous self to shake. 

"I suppose it should be goodbye from me as well," he said. "No sense in tempting fate, and all that." 

"Quite." The Fifth Doctor shook the proffered hand and then smiled. "It's been... interesting." 

"Yes." The Sixth Doctor studied him for a moment, frowning slightly. "It never loses its novelty, does it. Meeting oneself, I mean. It's really quite illuminating." 

"Yes, well. At least there are only the two of us this time. When there's half a dozen, illuminating can become positively nightmarish." They shared a smile. "Goodbye then. Until next time." 

"Undoubtedly." With a warm smile at Turlough, the Sixth Doctor departed. Turlough strolled back to the console and closed the door. 

"You are the oddest person to travel with," he observed after a moment. The Fifth Doctor pushed his hands into his pockets, and frowned. 

"Is that a bad thing?" he asked. Perhaps the memory of Tegan's abrupt departure was still too raw. Turlough saw something of that possibility in the bright, pale eyes turned towards him. He smiled. 

"No, Doctor. It's just... different. Now, somebody did say something about a holiday." 

"Ah. Yes." Hands deep in his pockets, the Doctor managed to look more than usually sheepish. "Let's give that another try, shall we?" And turning back to the console, he flicked off the scanner screen, before directing his attention to the controls. Soon enough the time rotor was rising and falling, and the TARDIS was back in flight. Turlough wondered where they would end up next. It was impossible to believe that in all of time and space there was nowhere that was truly quiet and peaceful, but he knew better than to hope that the TARDIS would prove him right. Peaceful was simply not her style. He didn't quite understand why, with his nervous disposition, that didn't bother him more. Perhaps it was because the Doctor was beside him, weird and difficult, and yet somehow always reassuring. Perhaps it was because he had learned that things had a habit of turning out right in the end. Perhaps, ultimately, it was something more basic than that. Somehow, for all its death-defying, terror-inducing ways, the TARDIS was home; a home with a universe full of wonder as a backyard. Danger notwithstanding, there was simply no better place in which to be. 

 

The End


End file.
